Sunday, March 18, 2012
when you noticed your ghost
It's so warm today it could be summer. She empties the drawers and lays out her dresses. Cotton soft, bright and clingy. It could be oblivion. We ride our bikes when the sun starts to fall. The breeze through her hair and dress, breaks every bone in my body. It's warm, my bones heal, my blood is blue through my skin. Red outside where the air touches it, where the lies and sweat and wine flows.
New noises: baby cries, dogs barking, the high-pitched whistle of our dented tea kettle. Perfect in it's imperfection. The last few notes of a song you recommended. Am I the ghost you wanted me to be?
The heat sticks to the pavement like a summer dress to skin. Neon lights and palm tree sway. Tourists on spring-break pack hotels and emergency rooms with sunstroke. To many beers with lime and key west shrimp. Tits bouncing to the reggae beat. There are more clothes off than on. Tattoos telling the stories of each others lives. The salt water draws them in. The briny air and art deco moon.